A Breath Beneath Bitter Sands
by Arisprite
Summary: Spock made no move. The Vulcan had pulled him down, bent at the waist and peering into each other’s faces. One had an expression of mild surprise, the other, of panic pain and confusion. The Vulcan pulled Spock closer and whispered into his ear. "Kill me
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is my very first foray into the Star Trek fandom. (I blame the movie and Zach Quinto's lovely eyes) Anyway, I love the TOS characters (Especially Spock!) and I hope I can do them justice here. **

**P.S. This is also my first multi-chaptered fic too, so be prepared for updates. I have most of it written at this point, so they should be quick. **

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**Captain's Log: Stardate 3156.5: We've received a distress call from Sigma XII, a Vulcan colony established 50 years ago. The signal was a single looped message for help. There is no response to our hails, so we are proceeding with all due haste. Kirk out.**

The town was deserted. Though it was the height of harvest season, there were no market places, no crowds, and no workers in the ripe fields visible from the square in which Spock stood, with Captain Kirk, McCoy, and two security guards. Having beamed seconds before from a busy ship, the silence felt substantial against their ears. The dusty ground surrounding them was unmarked from passing feet, and the windows of the circle of cabins were dark; no movement showed within any structure.

"Fascinating." Spock remarked.

McCoy glanced over at him, his face showing annoyance. It was an emotion Spock was becoming proficient in reading.

"And just what, may I ask, is so fascinating?" He asked, "There's no one here." Spock directed his answer towards the captain.

"The buildings are not only deserted, but have been for at least 2.4 weeks" Spock knelt and lightly touched the smooth ground. "Judging by the lack of marks on the ground and the state of the structures, there has not been a significant body of people here for quite some time."

Kirk knelt down beside him, then stood again and looked around, turning in a complete circle before coming to rest again facing Spock.

"So, where did they go?" He asked, getting to the bottom of the issue. Spock turned and began walking the perimeter of the oval, lifting his tricorder and taking readings.

"That, I shall endeavor to find out, Captain." Spock walked off in one direction. Kirk and McCoy began scouting the other, until a call from Spock brought them across to his position. He stood looking into a darkened doorway. Kirk and McCoy joined him, and after their eyes adjusted, they recoiled in shock. McCoy uttered an oath.

"What happened to them?" Kirk asked in a horrified, hushed voice.

Spock turned away from the gruesome sight of bodies twisted and stiff, laying on each and every surface inside the small cabin. The tricorder readings showed eleven deceased Vulcans within the building.

"Unknown. Readings show no survivors within this structure." He began to continue his scanning around the circle.

McCoy was fiddling with his medical scanner.

"Jim, there is a high level of bacteria through all their lungs and cardiovascular systems." He glanced grimly at Kirk. "It looks like an epidemic."

"I would agree with Doctor McCoy." Spock called from two cabins down.

"That's a first." McCoy muttered. Spock ignored him.

"There are 5 more bodies in this cabin, and 6 in the previous. " He paused to scan the next cabin.

"Captain, I have picked up a life form." He said. He moved to stand in front of a dark gaping doorway. The cabin inside was impenetrable, but something had moved a moment ago. He could hear heavy breathing. Kirk and McCoy came closer.

"Could it be a survivor?" Kirk asked in an undertone. Spock shook his head, and gestured the security guard to come forward, weapons raised. But as the men stepped forward, a shape burst from the darkness, and latched itself onto Spock's right arm. Too late to stop it, the security guards aimed weapons on Spock and his clinging passenger.

The scene seemed to freeze. Spock made no move, the Vulcan, for Vulcan it was, had pulled him down, bent at the waist and peering into each other's faces. One had an expression of interest and mild surprise, the other, of panic pain and confusion. The strange Vulcan breathed heavily, clutching with deceptive strength, green-rimmed eyes holding Spock's own. Spock could feel the fever through his shirtsleeve, and could sense the panic, terror and desperation in his thoughts.

The Vulcan pulled Spock closer and breathed in his ear.

"Kill me." Then his eyes widened and he pulled back, but not before coughing hard and wet into Spock's face. The unknown Vulcan collapsed into a heap, no longer coughing, no longer breathing. McCoy rushed to him, scanning quickly before sitting back.

"He's dead. There was nothing I could do. He's got the same thing the others had" He stood up still looking down at the crumpled body. "We'd better beam up, Jim." He sighed. "We don't want to catch what's down here." McCoy and Kirk turned to go back to the center of the circle, but Spock's voice stopped them.

"I suggest we initiate full decontamination procedure once aboard, as well as blood tests and antibiotics." Spock said.

"I don't think that all will be ness—"McCoy's words died on his lips as Spock turned towards them. Their eyes widened to see the green spatters of infected blood across Spock's face.

**A/N: Gasp! Ok now leave me a note if you are interested in the me know what you think. I hope to hear from you.**

**-Ari**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Next chapter! Also since I forgot previously, I do not own Star Trek nor any of its characters. That privledge belongs to Gene R. Sad day. Thanks for reading!

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Sickbay. Doctor's Log: Well, Spock's gone and done it again. Superior Vulcan physique be darned, he always manages to find the one thing that can bring him down. After beaming up, decontamination, and blood testing, I found that the only one of the landing party infected was that green-blooded Vulcan. And it was his green blood that did it too. The disease that killed all the Vulcan colonists seems to be a variant of the Vulcan plague, very similar to ours in that it either affects the lungs, the lymph nodes or the entire system, but worse in symptoms and death rate. Fortunately, for the Enterprise, it only affects copper-based blood. So we won't have a plague ship on our hands, but we will have one very sick Vulcan.

Spock sat cross-legged on his bed, submitting to a battery of tests performed by Dr. McCoy. He was grateful that as of yet, the blood draws and diagnostic checks could be done in his own quarters. He did not appreciate the sterile, public atmosphere of the Sickbay. Spock was not looking forward to the inevitable time when he would have to be confined in sickbay. At least in his quarters he could meditate, or work with ease. Or he would, if he were not interrupted every 3 hours to see if he was sick yet.

"Doctor, I fail to see why I must be constantly interrupted. It is not necessary; I will inform you when I start to feel ill." McCoy snorted as he gathered his supplies.

"Sure you will." Spock knew he was thinking of the many times Spock had concealed an illness or injury from his perceptive doctor. Spock suppressed a sigh. McCoy cheerily went to the door. "See you in three hours."

The smile faded from McCoy's face as he strode away from Spock's cabin. He scowled as he remembered the results from the Spock's latest scans. The bacteria were increasing throughout Spock's bloodstream, in spite of the antibiotics he was immediately put on. McCoy also wasn't making any progress with a cure, either from the annals of Vulcan literature, or tests run on the dead Vulcan's infected blood. He was spending every free minute in the lab, running test after test. So far there were no positive results.

Once in his office, he keyed on the computer.

"Request the Captain to my office, please." He leaned back to ponder how to tell Kirk that his best friend may be dying.

When Kirk walked into McCoy's office, Bone's grim face gave him pause. McCoy saw worry, fear, and anger flash by before being hidden by Kirk's Captain's Mask.

"Report." Kirk ordered in a formal tone, hoping to avoid platitudes from a friend, in lieu of information from his CMO. McCoy straightened, swallowed and reported all he knew, telling him of the increasing bacteria count and failed tests.

"Barring complications, I would put survival at 30 to 35 percent." Kirk clenched his fists behind his back. It could not be possible. Spock was not going to die. McCoy cleared his throat.

"Jim, I'm sor—" Kirk cut him off.

"He is not dead yet, Doctor McCoy." Kirk said sternly. "You would do well to find a way to keep him in that state." Kirk sighed and let the tension leak out of his posture. He turned to go, then stopped in the doorway. "Get him well, Bones."

After the Captain swept into the corridor, McCoy clenched his fists.

"I will, Jim." He swore. "You can count on it."

After 32.5 hours confined to his cabin, Spock could honestly say he was restless. He stood by the door, he lay on the bed, he walked in circles unable focus on one topic for more than 5 minutes. Yes he was adgitated. However, he could not logically determine why that should be. All his normal pursuits were available inside and out of his cabin. He had played chess with Jim last evening, and won. Admittedly, it was over a computer consul; Spock could not risk leaving the cabin, and spreading the bacteria. He had his research, his duties from the Science station were relayed to his quarters. He could meditate at his leisure. Why then, did he feel so uneasy?

He pressed a hand to his stomach as he paced his quarters. It could have something to do with the fact that he was unable to keep his meals in the correct organ. A side effect from the antibiotics he was on, and actually many of the medicines the Doctor had forced down his throat, was a persistent nausea.

Spock sat at his desk chair attempting to concentrate on data readings from the planet's atmosphere. After 2 minutes, he gave up and rubbed his forehead. He illogically was reluctant to admit it even to himself, but no doubt the illness was beginning to manifest itself. He felt tired, achy and cold.

He pulled his blanket closer around his shoulders, and leaned forward again. Spock picked up the stylus, ignoring the slight tremble in his hands. He would do his duties, even imprisoned in his cabin, until he no longer could.

An undetermined amount of time later, McCoy buzzed, and after a moment, let himself in. It was an undetermined amount of time later because the Vulcan with impeccable time sense was currently asleep, slumped over his desk, the blanket sliding off his shoulders. McCoy smiled from behind his protective mask. Spock always looked so young asleep. His mouth was slightly opened and his usually tidy hair was rumpled and crushed against the tabletop. He couldn't have been very comfortable.

McCoy shook Spock's shoulder, prepared to watch Spock bolt awake and then deny he was ever asleep. He wasn't prepared for a groggy eye flutter and slight groan. Spock slowly raised his head, surreptitiously trying to shake off the webs of sleep that seemed to cloud his mind. McCoy leaned over him and felt his forehead.

"Well Spock, your free time is up." McCoy sat on another chair and looked at the ailing Vulcan. Spock's pace was pale with greenish smudges under his eyes. McCoy could tell the illness had taken hold by just looking at him. "You've got a slight fever." Spock nodded. He had suspected. "I gotta take you up to sickbay."

Spock breathed out slowly, a long-suffering sigh for those that knew him. He glanced around his cabin, aware that he would not be seeing these surroundings for quite some time. He shook his head again; nostalgia and regret were illogical and very human. He must be more affected then he thought.

"Very well Doctor." Spock cleared his throat, his voice was raspy. "Allow me to gather my things."

McCoy shook his head.

"Sorry Spock, everything has to be decontaminated. Even the clothes you're wearing will have to go."

Spock again sighed, and submitted to being led to Sickbay.

**A/N Leave a review after the tone. BEEEEEEEEP!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Here is another update! I will try to do one or two updates a day. Thanks for reading, and do leave reviews please. :)**

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Kirk sat slouched in his command chair, overseeing the science crew receiving and interpreting data from the planet below. They had to work twice as hard now that Spock had started showing symptoms, analyzing and scanning the samples to find a cause or cure to the mysterious plague.

Kirk raised his fingers to his eyes, trying to rub the grit of tiredness from them. He didn't like this, not one bit. Spock was laid up in sickbay, and was only going to get worse, while his team worked to find an answer. The only thing Kirk could do is watch. The tension was almost strangling, but there was nothing to do about it. Abruptly he stood.

"Mr. Chekhov, you have the conn." And he strode into the lift, without waiting for the softly spoken, "Aye, sir."

Once in the lift, Kirk leaned against the wall.

"Recreation." He told the computer and the lift started to move. Maybe a hard workout would ease his mind.

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McCoy pressed a hypo into Spock's shoulder. He scowled. All they were doing was waiting. Waiting for Spock to worsen, to get better, for a cure. It was maddening!

"Doctor, I do not think that hypo has done anything to merit such malice." Spock remarked softly.

McCoy jumped and looked up. He realized he had been glaring at the hypo in his hand for the past few minutes. He grunted, and glanced at Spock sitting there in bed, wearing a Sickbay issue gown and wrapped in blankets. The isolation room was warm for his tastes; luckily the biohazard suit he was wearing had climate control, but Spock was freezing. His shivering was further testament to his impending deterioration, and McCoy shied away from that thought.

"It's not getting you well. That's enough for me." He growled, as he checked the biobed readings. Temp up, respiration down. Bad bad bad!

"You worry unnecessarily, Doctor." Spock cleared his throat painfully. "I shall be fine."

"Oh and you know this how, oh mighty Vulcan seer?" McCoy shot back. "I'm the doctor here." Spock sat up straighter and McCoy prepared, with a sigh, for what he called a "logic lecture".

"First, the inhabitants of the planet had limited medical supplies and none at the end. Second, I have been treated with a broad spectrum and powerful antibiotic from almost the moment of infection. Third—"He broke off, self-consciously bringing his elbow up to cough lightly into. "Third, you and Jim will not let me die." He said this last bit very quietly but with full conviction. It was almost an order in its intensity. McCoy blinked in surprise at this overt display of trust from the stoic Vulcan. Spock's eyes had closed after this speech and he shivered again.

McCoy stood to go out, pausing at the door. Looking back at Spock, lying limply with a green flush in his pale face, he felt a new confidence rise. Spock believed in him, and he could not fail him.

"You better believe it Spock." He spoke softly, and turned to go, turning up the heat a few degrees as he went out.

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Both the fever and the coughs increased from that point on. Spock was now continually alternating between shivers and being so hot that he longed to kick off all his blankets. Only his remaining logic kept them on. His breaths became raspy, rattling in his chest, broadcasting the fact that they were filling with liquid. But the worst so far came in the form of paralyzing, deep coughs.

He'd give anything to go into a healing trance, but the coughs could not be held off long enough to sink into one. His attempts had him reaching the first or second level of awareness, before his ribcage would seize up and he would be painfully aware of each cough scraping through his raw throat. He was forced to sit in an awkward half upright position in an attempt to ease his breathing, his head lolling uncomfortably because he lacked the strength to hold it up.

Spock shifted miserably, and sighed. He turned his head as the airlock released and Kirk walked in, encased in a protective suit.

"You're awake." Kirk said, unnecessarily. He walked closer, and put a gloved hand on Spock's shoulder, squeezing a reassurance.

"Yes, Captain." Spock rasped.

"How do you feel?" Only Spock's last vestiges of dignity and logic kept him from rolling his eyes. He thought it must have been very obvious how he felt. Some of McCoy's more potent oaths could cover his present circumstances, he supposed.

"I am fine." Spock said as strongly as he could. The effort cost him, however as he broke into another coughing fit. His lungs seized up and the muscles in his torso protested the abuse. He wrapped his arms around his middle and squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for it to pass. The coughs did not pass, however, and he began to panic as his chest muscles refused to relax enough for him to draw breath. His field of vision was dark around the edges. Gasping between each harsh, grating cough, Spock felt people around him, holding him up, wiping his chin of the green, bloodied sputum he coughed up. His lungs were on fire! Someone pounded hard onto his back and Spock spat something disgusting into a cloth held to his face.

After a moment, he suddenly could _breathe_ again. He gasped and swallowed, almost choking. Spot danced before his eyes and he sank into an exhausted doze.

When he became aware of leaning against someone's chest, breathing in time with them, he was flooded with feelings of mortification. Who had seen his panic, his terror at not having the simple ability to draw air? He stiffened and tried to pull away, but only made it halfway up before he swayed with dizziness. The man behind him again pulled him down. From his shushing noises, Spock recognized Jim.

"Ji—"Spock's voice gave out, and he coughed lightly, trying to speak.

"Shush, don't talk." Jim murmured. "You're alright." Jim slid slowly out from under Spock and sat again beside the bed, arraingeing Spock against the pile of pillows as if he were a new born child. Spock took a moment to adjust to the change of position, then tried again to speak.

"What ha—"

"A bad coughing fit." Kirk answered. "Bones said one of the worst yet. He wanted to sedate you, but you calmed enough once I held you up." He went to rub his forehead and ran into the mask of the biohazard suit. "Sorry about that, by the way. I know you don't like that much physical contact."

"Think nothing of it Captain," Spock rasped, finally finishing a sentence. He reached out an unsteady arm, seeking to reassure his captain. "It did seem to…ground me to reality."

"Well, good. Your welcome then," Kirk said, taking his thin hand and patting it gently, before letting go. "Bones wants to run some tests, so I'll leave you to his mercy."

As he finished speaking, McCoy bustled in. He was carrying various pieces of equipment, and Spock didn't look forward to finding out exactly what the functions of each were.

"That's right," McCoy said. "The only time I get to boss you around is when you're a patient. I intend to make the most of it while it lasts." McCoy planted his feet and glared at the Vulcan, while Jim chuckled. Spock consented to raise a weary eyebrow.

"Good luck, Spock," Jim said earnestly.

**A/N: Ok now press that little button just below here. No, a little to the right, yup perfect. :) Thanks for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thank you for the lovely reviews! And I am just about done with the story, so expect it pretty soon. Enjoy!**

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McCoy observed his patient from behind the PADD he was reading. He was attempting to read through recent articles on Vulcan respiratory  
infections, but was having little success. The reason for his failure was the respiratory infection of one certain Vulcan. Spock's predicament was  
worrying him deeply, and stopping him from concentrating.

McCoy could see how rapid the degeneration had been so far. It had been 5 days  
since they had beamed to that tomb of a camp and Spock had picked up the damn infection in the first place. Since then, Spock had lost weight  
and color, couldn't talk -or even breathe- without coughing, and was getting weaker and weaker.

As if sensing the scrutiny and probably guessing the thoughts of the doctor, Spock straightened his head, and made eye contact with McCoy. McCoy could see the exhaustion and pain in those brown eyes. He dropped the PADD and brought over a cup of cool water. Spock sipped it slowly, only managing a few gulps before turning his head away. An unfortunate side effect of the powerful antibiotic meds he was on is nausea and a loss of appetite. This was a side effect that Spock could certainly do without, but the most McCoy could is put him on anti-emetics to keep him from vomiting and loosing fluids.

Spock cleared his throat. McCoy turned towards him, watching his mouth rather than his eyes. Often enough Spock could not get more than a single word out, so McCoy had to resort to guesswork, crude sign language and reading his lips.

"Report." Spock whispered. McCoy launched into an in depth summary of all the tests and experiments they had attempted so far. This had become their habit, whenever McCoy came to relieve Nurse Chapel, after hours in the lab. It kept Spock in the loop, and thinking cognately, but McCoy was worried about the effect the bad news had on the Vulcan's spirits. The lack of hope in Spock's eyes, quite frankly, terrified him.

Things were not looking good.

McCoy rubbed the back of his neck, and glared at the sick Vulcan in sudden anger. Why was it _always_ them two troublemakers who ended up in his Sickbay? They couldn't go one mission without one or both, lying there, coming within an inch of death sometimes. Frankly, it pissed him off. Spock raised his eyebrow at McCoy's glare, about the only defense he had. He licked his lips and murmured something. Bones scowled.

"Shut up you." He muttered, strangely feeling as if he had just lost an argument.

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For the sixth time, Kirk jolted out of his spiraling thoughts to see worried faces. A crewmember- who had obviously been saying his name- stood in front of him, clutching a PADD nervously. The captain rubbed his tense neck and attempted to pay attention to the report of the anomaly in the planet's atmosphere. According to the science staff, it was a rare scientific discovery, but since it could not do anything to help his science officer, Kirk had difficulty focusing. At the end of the speech, the timid scientist left, relieved. Kirk massaged his temples and tried to concentrate on the view screen, while listening for the buzz of the communicator. If Bones called….

"Captain?" It was Uhura, looking concerned. Her expressive voice spoke volumes about her worry. Kirk tried a smile at her.

"Yes, Lieutenant." Kirk said. She leaned close to his face, speaking for the whole crew.

"We are fine here." She said, "He needs you. Go." She barely murmured those words, but they were the motivation that Kirk had been waiting for. He searched her eyes, seeing friendly concern and affection. The look was echoed on the faces of the bridge crew. Feeling touched, Kirk nodded, and rose.

"Mr. Chekhov, you have the conn." He walked towards the lift. "I will be in Sickbay."

Kirk soon took over the nursing duties from McCoy and Chapel, arguing that anyone could sit and watch over Spock, but that only they could work in the lab to find a cure. McCoy consented, but insisted on staying in the general vicinity, instead of going to the lab. He sat in his office and studied more articles and text, adding to the pile of those already read and discarded. Technically, he could do the same from Spock's bedside as he could from his office, but he recognized Jim's need to be doing something to help his friend.

Spock obviously took comfort from it. When Kirk walked in, Spock had brightened visibly and listed with interest at the goings on around the ship. He even got some scuttlebutt from the ships grapevine, since Jim had quickly run out of the official topics. He really hadn't been paying attention, had he?

"And the Ensign turned around to see the whole of recreation watching his declaration…"

For a moment, Jim thought Spock was chuckling at his inane story. Then he realized that first; Spock wouldn't chuckle or even crack a smile at such a trivial piece of news, and second; Spock's supposed chuckles were rapidly dissolving into rough, thick coughs.

Kirk frantically pulled Spock upright and pounded on Spock's back. That had helped somewhat before, though it pained Spock and Kirk in watching it. However, the position did not seem to be working now. Spock's breathing was only quick gasps between the powerful coughs. His breath rattled in his chest, frightening Kirk. Then his eyes, which had been squeezed shut, widened, and the rattling breaths stopped.

For one split second Jim felt relief that the fit was over, before he realized that the absence of the rattle was proving to be an absence of breath altogether! Spock's mouth was wide open, desperate for air. His lips and fingernails were rapidly turning purple.

Panic threatened to consume Kirk, but his training quickly took over. Ripping his mask off--this was no time for idiotic Star Fleet procedures! -- He yelled for McCoy. Spock was thrashing, and Kirk was afraid he would hurt himself or someone else. Jim knelt on the bed and pinned Spock down. It was frighteningly easy, and was a further affirmation to how far Spock had weakened. Under normal circumstances, Kirk could never have held Spock if he wanted to be free.

Kirk flung the blankets off, and saw in horror how Spock's ribcage was straining for vital oxygen. Bending over the Vulcan, he pressed his mouth to Spock's, and began rescue breathing. As Jim came up for a breath, Spock arched his back, his throat muscles straining, nearly getting free of Jim's restraints. His lips gaped open for air he could not take in. Kirk pinned him again, and just breathed, breathed, though his heart was thudding in his chest. He was only vaguely aware of McCoy moving beside him, adjusting things and pressing hypos into tense muscle.

Jim breathed.

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**A/N: AND a cliffy. teehee :) review?**


	5. Chapter 5

Spock opened his eyes and saw a strange, yet familiar sight. It was the garden at his family home, but he knew that the Enterprise was parsecs away from Vulcan. Mentally shrugging, he was too tired to puzzle out any reasons for his being here. Here he was, and he was content.

He broke into a smile as he saw the figure of his mother, bending over her flowers. He had helped her plant those blooms. She had laughed so happily when he had managed to order the seeds from Earth. He had received his father's help in the purchase, but the idea was his. He was delighted that they had grown so tall.

But, that was years ago, was it not? He could not have been more than four at the time. Perhaps not, he thought, for childish feet were carrying him closer to Amanda, and a small hand reached to take hers.

"Do you like them Spock? They are beautiful, are they not?" Amanda gently asked her son. The years and care had not yet given her the silver locks, and fine wrinkles on her face. She was young and lovely, smiling down at her young son.

"They are…atheistically pleasing." Spock said, stiffly, while glancing at his mother from the corner of his eye. Her eyes were squinted in smiling lines, while she spoke.

"I'm glad you think so, Mr. Spock." She said seriously. She could not restrain her laughs at Spock's next remark.

"I do not _think_ so. It is a fact." She scooped him into her arms and hugged him. Spock relaxed into her arms, and allowed her aura and happiness to melt throughout him.

"You shall have to thank your father for helping you purchase them." Amanda said. Spock shook his head, and squirmed down off her knees, turning away.

"I do not want to. He didn't want to help me, he thought it was illogical. But I _knew_ you would like them." Spock beamed at her. She laughed again. Spock loved that laugh.

"My son, you have just called your mother an illogical being." She arched an eyebrow at him. He blushed green, slightly.

"I'm sorry." He sounded sheepish. She picked him up again and held him on her lap.

"Do not be sorry. I _am_ an illogical being, and you and your father put up with me very well." She tapped his nose, then kissed his forehead. "After all, one must not fight what they are." He sobered, and looked at the ground. The grown Vulcan remembered that this was nearly the last time Spock had allowed Amanda to cuddle and hold him. Her words had resonated in his heart, but he felt unease concerning himself.

What was he? Vulcan? Human?

It was after that day that he decided to be Vulcan.

After that day, he broke his mother's heart.

The child Spock sat quietly in his mother's arms, enjoying the pulsing love and happiness from his mother's contact. He missed this. No, he _will _miss this.

There was a note of discord, of unquiet in the contentment. Spock heard voices calling out. It disturbed him. Something about those voices was compelling, urgent and commanding obedience. He wriggled down from his mother's arms, and turned around.

"Mother did you hear—" He turned back to find his mother vanished, the garden no more and himself standing on a dune in the sands of a wild Vulcan desert. The wind blew around him, and he choked on the dust. In the wind, he could hear panicked voices calling his name. Jim! And McCoy! He covered his nose and mouth with one hand, shaded his eyes with the other, but there was nothing visible in the sudden storm. He hoped they had shelter from the deadly wind.

The dust leaked into his mouth and down his throat, burning and scraping. Any air he took in was full of powder. Coughing and gasping he fell to his knees on the ground. He could not breathe! Regret overwhelmed him that somehow he had left Kirk and McCoy to die in the Vulcan desert, because he did not have the sense to seek out shelter.

He felt the sand close his throat. He collapsed into the fetal position, no longer gasping for he could not draw breath. He would drown in the desert. His grit-filled eyes drifted shut, and blackness consumed him.

He opened his eye to a wall of fire. It was dancing just in front of him, barricading the way for unending lengths in either direction. The fumes choked him, scorching its way down his throat and setting a blaze inside his chest. Brown eyes wide, he rose shakily, coughing. He looked at the inferno before him.

There was a familiar figure behind the barrier of flame, rippling and barely visible. It was his mother. She was standing, beckoning towards him, seemingly unaware of the danger she was so perilously close to.

He took a step forward, intending he knew not what, when the flames parted before him, and a pathway was cleared directly towards Amanda. He nearly sobbed in relief, and took another step.

Then, he pulled up short. There hidden underneath the crackling fingers of fire, were two voices. They were voices he had forgotten, he realized they had always been there. They were calling to him to come. Their voices surrounded him, and he turned, searching.

Suddenly the wall of flames encircled him with a great rushing noise that momentarily drowned out the friendly voices. Spock was now standing, immobilized, in the center of a circle of heat and flames. Ahead was the clear path that led to his mother's safe arms. She held them out for him. To all other sides were roaring, tongues.

The voices picked up intensity, fearful, panicked. He now could see that two figures stood, behind the flames directly opposite his mother's safe corridor. They were familiar. So familiar.

The answer came to Spock in a jolt of clarity so intense that he fell to his knees. He knew them! Jim! McCoy! They were his friends, and they were looking for him.

-Spock- his mother called him. He turned and could now clearly see his choice. To walk to safety and his mother's arms. Unburned, and forever in peace, accepted. Or, to walk through a wall of flame to stand at the side of his captain at the cost of pain and hurt.

-Spock! Spock!- The voices of his dear friends came to his ears. He realized his error. He was accepted there as well, with his friends, his brothers. And it was not yet time for his earned peace. It would be hard, and painful, but he was ready. He rose, back straight, decision made; he searched his mother's eyes. There he found acceptance and love.

-Go- She whispered.

He turned and walked into the barrier of fire.

Jim's arms shook as he continued the rescue breathing, regardless of the fact that his panic made his trembling breaths almost useless to Spock's greater lung capacity. He had fallen into an eternal pattern breathe out, gasp another breath, and repeat. He grunted with each repetition. Kirk's eyes were shut against his tears, and his lips quivered against Spock's cooling skin. Breathe in, breathe out.

He was only aware of McCoy protesting when he physically pulled him back by the shoulders. Kirk flailed, trying to get back to his friend, his brother, but Bones wouldn't let him go. He instead pulled Jim to his chest, stilling his frantic movements.

"He's gone, he's gone." was the whispered mantra, and Kirk's heart rebelled to hear it.

"No!" He lunged again, and got free from McCoy's shaking arms. Kirk gently cradled Spock, raising his head and pressing it against his heart. He sat there, not moving now, frozen in disbelief. McCoy stood where Kirk had left him, looking anywhere but at the dropping life signals readings. There was nothing he could do and the thought killed him. Tears flowed, from two pairs of eyes.

Then Kirk raised his head, looking in shock at Spock's face. There was movement and minute expressions, where before had been almost a death mask. Kirk again was frozen. Then abruptly and terrifyingly violently, Spock arched his back, gasping, eyes wide and crazed. He thrashed and nearly knocked Kirk off the bed. Spock's body convulsed, he coughed loud, and harsh, spilling bloodied liquid from his lips.

McCoy jumped into action, Kirk only a second behind. Kirk lifted his friend's body upright, pounding on his back. McCoy grabbed a hypo and then commenced to clean Spock's face and catch the remaining expelled substance. Spock coughed harder, and they clung to him as he writhed, and shuddered. Then they watched, in amazement, when, after the frenzy, he fell into a deep, but living sleep.

Now they sat, staring desperately at each slow, but strong breath that lifted the Vulcan's ribcage. It could not be, he had been dying. McCoy at least, was sure of it. He had seen the falling life signs. He was a doctor, for heaven's sake, and if he couldn't tell when a patient was fading away….

Never had he been so glad to be wrong.

He was strong, Spock. He had fought his way back from the very brink of oblivion. He had come back to them, to form their threesome, their brotherhood.

There was still a long way to go. He would be terribly weak and ill for weeks. There may even be permanent damage to his lungs. There was still the possibility that he would not survive, even after this rally. But he lived now! And damned if McCoy wasn't going to keep him that way.

Now if the hobgoblin would just wake up.


End file.
